


Welcome To The Business, Kid

by Captain_Kieren



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Drake's Deception, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hallelujah, I love their relationship, There's a plot now, and also, and also young nate is best nate, and young sully gives me life, but hes mentioned a lot, but rightly so, but sully loves it, gives me life, i am so addicted to teen nate, i don't know where this came from honestly, i dont know whats happening, it hurts me, its becoming a real problem, maybe? - Freeform, nate is a smarty pants, nate is paranoid, protective!Sam, protective!sully, sam comes in later, slay me, some humor?, teen nate, their relationship gives me the warm fuzzies, they both love nate so much, this is getting more intense than i meant it to, uncharted 3, young nathan drake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kieren/pseuds/Captain_Kieren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started in Cartagena, the day Victor Sullivan picked him up off his sorry ass and offered to be his mentor. Teen-Nate era. Nate and Sully get used to each other and take on their first job together.  Featuring: smarty pants Nate and mildly parental Sully. Fluffy. One-shot?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started in Cartagena, the day Victor Sullivan picked him up off his sorry ass and offered to be his mentor (for lack of a better term). A little mandatory tough-guy "I don't need your help" arguing later and Nate is following the strange crook out the door of the seedy dive bar to the curb, where Sullivan hails a cab.

  
It pulls up slowly and the driver rolls down the window, a puff of cigarette smoke seeping out into the air, mingling with the stench of alcohol from the bar. "Sully" tells him in broken Spanish the address of his hotel and the driver nods his head for them to get in. They slide into the back seat which stinks of cigarettes and booze. Sullivan busies himself trying to strike up conversation with the driver despite his god-awful understanding of the language. Nate, on the other hand, is just trying not to look too uncomfortable as he stares out the window, watching the city go by.

  
What the hell is he even doing here. God, if Sam knew his little brother was hopping into a cab with a random stranger (worse, a random, middle aged tourist with a mustache), he'd strangle him. Suddenly, he can't tell if it's a good thing or a really, really bad thing his brother is currently in jail. Sam's always been a better judge of character than he is. He wonders what his brother would think of Victor Sullivan.

  
Almost as if he can read Nate's mind, Sullivan nudges him with his elbow. Nate jumps at the unexpected jab in his ribs and scowls at the old crook, rubbing his side as if it hurt. Which it didn't.

  
"You got a place to stay, Kid?" Sullivan asks.

  
Nate is tempted to say yes just so he doesn't look desperate and technically it wouldn't be a lie. For a while after the cops hauled Sam off to prison, Nate paid for a hotel room with the money they'd managed to scrounge up over the previous months lifting cash and valuables off oblivious, rich tourists and black-out drunk thugs laying in alleyways. But once that stash got dangerously low, he packed up his and his brother's few belongings and scouted out somewhere else to stay. The best he could find was an abandoned church near the center of town. It wasn't in terrible condition and there were cots tucked away in a closet that he dragged out. Hell, it was even well insulated so he was never too cold or hot...but still. Just thinking of another night that dark, empty church makes him miserable.

  
So Nate buries his pride and tries to shake his head 'no'.

  
All he manages is to shrug impishly and say "Sorta" instead. That's more truthful anyway. Still, the look Sullivan gives him is one dangerously close to pity and Nate feels that familiar ball of defiance and embarrassment swell up in his gut. He opens his mouth to once again remind Sullivan he doesn't need his help but the old fart cuts him off.

  
"Any family that'll be lookin' for ya?"

  
Nate frowns and crosses his arms. He'd thought Sullivan had worked out that family was a sore subject. Evidently not.

  
"Look, Kid, the only reason I'm even bringing it up is because I don't want your face showing up on goddamn milk cartons while you're following me around. I never took too kindly to _prison_."

  
Nate cracks a smile. Fair enough. "No, no family that's looking for me." By the time he finds out about Sam, Nate will be long gone anyway. He's only sticking around long enough to pick up a few tricks of the trade, make a little cash, and then he's out of here.

* * *

 

The cab drops them off in front of a shabby hole-in-the-wall motel with peeling paint and more two boarded up windows, nuzzled between a bar on one side and a foreclosed warehouse on the other.

  
Looks like home.

  
Sully pays their driver and the cab pulls away with a puff of exhaust and cigarette smoke. The kid is standing next to him on the curb, glancing around with that hard look on his face like he expects to be jumped at any time. Then again maybe he's not so wrong in this part of town. Still, Sully can't help but snort in amusement. "C'mon, you can crash on the couch."

  
Sully leads him up the fire-escape style metal steps at the side of the motel to the second landing. He pulls the key out of his pocket and unlocks the door marked with a faded 7. The door cracks open and he heads in, though the kid doesn't follow him. Sully pretends not to notice. Instead, he heads straight for the dingy kitchenette and pulls a beer out of the mini fridge and a take-out menu off the mysteriously sticky counter top. The whole thing's written in Spanish but there are photos and that works just as well. He picks up the phone and dials the number next to the clip art pizza.

  
As the phone rings, Sully peeks around the corner. Nate has finally wandered inside but he still looks shifty and out of place standing there in the middle of the room.

_"Hola, ¿Qué desean Ustedes?"_

  
"Uh, hola, do you have anyone there that speaks English?"

  
_"¿Qué?"_

  
"Uh, English. Ya know, Inglés."

  
_"Lo siento, Señor pero--"_

  
Nate, who has suddenly appeared in the kitchen, snatches the phone from Sully's hand with an irritated look. Glancing at the menu in Sully's hand, he says, "Hola, lo siento por eso. Quisiera un pizza de queso." There's a short pause and then Nate says, "Muchas gracias." He hangs up and turns to Sully with a raised eyebrow. "They know this phone number, must get deliveries here a lot. They'll be by later with the food."

  
Sully nods and takes a swig of his beer. "Thanks for the help."

  
The kid nods and wanders back out of the kitchenette, Sully gives him a moment before following after him.

  
"So lemme get this straight, you're what? Thirteen? And you know Latin, and speak two languages?"

  
"I'm fourteen," Nate corrects him, a little irritably. "And I speak four languages."

  
Admittedly, Sully gapes at him. "Four?"

  
"English, Spanish, Indonesian, and French."

"Not counting Latin..."

  
"No one _speaks_ Latin," The kid counters, then as an afterthought, "Except priests."

  
"And where the hell did a little street urchin like yourself learn to speak four languages? Did the nuns insist on that too?" As soon as he says it, Sully worries he might have overstepped his bounds with the kid. But, surprisngly, Nate just snickers and shakes his head.

  
"I'm a fast learner."

  
"Guess so..." _And a genius level IQ if you can pick up a language without studying._

* * *

 

The pizza arrives forty-five minutes later and Sullivan greets the delivery man at the door. "Gracias," he says, not even trying to sound authentic. He forks over a couple bills and an extra one for a tip and flops the greasy cardboard box on the counter in the kitchen. He doesn't bother with a plate, just drops down onto the couch with a beer in one hand a slice in the other.

  
Nate must be the most polite "street urchin" in Colombia because he, at least, grabs a paper towel to eat over (and a bottle of coke from the fridge since they seem to be conveniently out of beer all of a sudden. Crafty old bastard.) He takes a seat on the faded arm chair across from the couch and turns his attention to the static-y TV, marveling at the presence of actual rabbit ears and round dials. It must be ancient. Unfortunately, not the kind of ancient he finds interesting, which usually involves lost treasures and pirate conspiracies.

  
Speaking of which.

  
Swallowing his mouthful of grease-soaked pizza, Nate leans forward in his chair and asks, "So what kind of work do you do?"

  
Sullivan snorts a laugh and puts his bottle down on the end table beside the couch, fishing for something in his pocket. Nate tenses up, half expecting a knife or a gun even though neither would fit. Sully obviously notices and slowly removes the lighter, showing it to him before lighting a cigar. Nate relaxes but shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

  
The smell of the cigar is a pungent, sickeningly sweet aroma that completely overpowers the pizza. Nate coughs and makes a face, which Sullivan ignores.

  
"What I do depends on the client," he says.

  
"Then what kind of _clients_ do you take?"

  
Sullivan sits forward and chuckles. "The kind that pays well."

  
Nate's response is immediate. "Like Marlowe?" He can still feel the sting of her wrinkled old hand on his face.

  
"Ugh," Sullivan sits back again, the grin dropping from his face. "I didn't think she was the type to do something like that... I mean, I knew she was determined to get the ring back, but to try to _kill a kid_ for it?" It seems like he's talking more to himself than to Nate. "Ah, anyway, yeah. In our line of work, sometimes you gotta deal with assholes. You get used to it."

  
Nate nods his head thoughtfully and takes a bite of his pizza. "So what's next then? Now that you're fired."

  
"Dunno," Sully puffs his cigar. "I'll make some calls in the morning, see if I can get any work lined up for us. But for now," he stands up and stretches, tossing the empty beer bottle in the garbage can. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

  
Nate raises his eyebrows and looks at the watch on his belt. "At nine-thirty?"

  
Sullivan gives a gruff laugh. "Listen, Kid, when you're my age, you'll understand." With that, he puts the cigar out and disappears into the bathroom, probably to change.

  
As soon as he's gone, Nate jumps to his feet.

* * *

 

Sully hopes the kid won't be weirded out when he walks out in a tank top and boxers. But then again, even if he does, he'll get over it. Sully's a notoriously light packer and he didn't bring much in the way of pajamas to Colombia with him. Maybe if he knew he was going to end up rooming with a paranoid fourteen year old, he would have, but he can't do much about it now.

  
Stepping out of the bathroom, Sully tosses his dirty clothes into his suitcase and has tugged down the blanket on the bed before he realizes there's a breeze in the room. The door is wide open and Nate is no where to be seen.  
"Goddammit, Kid..."

* * *

 

The huge, wooden front doors of the church have always been rusted shut, their inner workings petrified over the years. However, the trapdoor from the steeple works like a charm. It's just a matter of shimmying across the rain gutter of the next building and landing the slightly perilous jump from there to the steeple to get inside. Piece of cake for Nathan Drake. (Ha! Sam would like that one.)

  
Once inside, Nate drops down from the rafters and strolls over to the platform where he's pushed aside the altar to set up a cot for himself. Funny, he thinks for the hundredth time since "moving in" here, that he of all people would choose to live in a church. He hated the orphanage and just about everyone there and this place has so many echoes of it. From the stained glass windows depicting Jesus with a halo of sunlight behind his head, to crosses mounted on the wall. As he gathers his and Sam's remaining belongings (which still fit comfortably in his satchel) Nate tries not to wonder if any of the nuns ever worried after he left. Not all of them were so terrible, he recalls.

  
Though most of them were. So uptight all the time.

  
Nate slides the last of Sam's books into his satchel and steps back to gaze--possibly one last time--at the little, rundown church he's called home for the last six months. Shaking his head, he turns and jogs toward the rope he hung from the rafters, climbing up with ease.

  
It's only then that he considers Sullivan.

  
Wait.

  
Did he leave the door open when he left?

* * *

 

Sully sits on the couch, tapping his thumb on the remote and watching thoughtlessly as the channels go by. Reaching over, he grabs the bottle of beer he's been nursing and takes a swig.

  
Damn kid.

* * *

 

Jogging up the steps to the second landing of the motel, Nate slows down and purposefully quiets his steps as he reaches for the door knob. Thankfully it's still unlocked. Pushing it open as noiselessly as possible, he's surprised to find the lights still on. And Sullivan sitting in the chair by the TV.

  
Nate stands in the doorway for a moment, not sure how to feel about the look the old man gives him. "I thought you were going to bed," he remarks, sidestepping into the room and closing the door behind him. But he doesn't get any closer, something in the back of his mind telling him he's screwed up somehow.

  
"I was," Sullivan agrees. "That is, until you ran off."

  
Nate blinks. "I didn't 'run off', I had to do some stuff."

  
"Stuff." Sully sighs and shakes his head. "Right. Well you didn't say you were leaving. A quick 'Hey, Sully, I'm headed out' would'a been nice."

  
Folding his arms, Nate makes face only an annoyed teenager can pull off. "I'm sorry, I was under the impression I could come and go at any time. I didn't realize I needed your permission to take a walk, _Mom_."

  
"Oh please." Sully stands up and ignores the way Nate visibly stiffens. "I'm goin' to bed, you do as you damn well please." With that, he flicks off the lights and the motel room is plunged into darkness, save for the flickering lights of the television. God dam stupid teenage punk. Sully fully expects to hear the door slam at any second and for the kid to be gone.

  
He's shocked to hear nothing but the creak of springs inside the couch and a sound like a pencil on paper punctuated by a long sigh.

* * *

 

Sully wakes up to something stuck to his forehead. Brow furrowed, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and peels the sticky note off his face. Squinting in the dim light of morning, he reads what it says and immediately snorts in tired amusement.

  
_Went for a walk, Mom_

  
_XOXO, Nate_

  
Smart ass.

  
_P.S. you snore_

* * *

 

The kid walks in about an hour later, just as Sully has finished his breakfast of leftover takeout and hung up the phone with one of his many, many contacts. Nate steps in somewhat nervously, that same suspicious look in his face. As well as a bruise blossoming on his left eye.

  
"Whoa-ho, what the hell happened to _you_?"

  
He shrugs lamely. "Same old, same old." Even so, he's wearing a crooked smirk.

  
Sully chuckles and tosses him a slice of cold pizza. "Eat something, we've got a plane to catch."

  
"A plane?" Nate lowers himself into the chair across from him, sitting Indian style and takes a bite.

  
"Yeah, I called up some of my contacts this morning, like I said. One of them's just got word of a very interesting deal with a very wealthy client."

  
"And this friend of yours doesn't want to take the client themselves?"

  
Heh, the kid's smart, Sully'll give him that. "He's a long time out of this business, Kid. An old Navy pal I used to partner up with every now and then for jobs, but he's married with a couple little ones now and living high on the hog somewhere out in California. He lets me know what hears though and keeps tabs for me."

  
"Nice guy." Nate doesn't sound all that impressed. "He do that out of the goodness of his heart?"

  
The line between intelligently-suspicious and paranoid is a thin one and this kid is definitely tottering right on that line. "He's a good guy," Sully assures him.

  
Nate snorts humorlessly. "A rare breed."

  
"Fair enough, but I trust him. He's never screwed me over."

  
Finally appeased, Nate shrugs. "If you say so. Where's this plane to?"

  
"You miss America, Kid? 'Cause that's where we're headed."

* * *

 

Apparently to Sullivan, "we have a plane to catch" _actually_ means "I have my own plane but it's being kept in a hangar two hours from the city so let's get a move on". Which is how Nate ends up stuffed in the back of one of those little airline golf carts while Sully chats merrily away to the golf-cart-thing's driver who clearly speaks no English whatsoever.

  
They pull up next to a hangar with a red and white stunt plane parked inside. Nate eagerly steps out of the cart and stretches his cramped legs while Sullivan thanks their driver and strolls over to his plane.

  
"A thing of beauty, ain't she?" He pats the side of the plane like it's made of gold. Nate slides up next to him to admire it but all he can see is the tiny spot of rust on the bottom of its right wing.

  
"Does it...run?" he asks, trying not to sound too offensive.

  
"Of course it runs, how do you think I got here?" Admittedly, that only makes him feel slightly better.

  
"And you do have your pilot's licence, right?"

  
Sullivan stops and folds his arms across his chest. "Yes. Now come on, don't you trust me?"

  
Nate gives him a look that says 'stupid question'. "More or less." Definitely less.

  
"Trust me, Kid, I'm a great pilot."

  
Uh huh. He'll believe it when he's sees it.

* * *

 

Sullivan turns out to be a half decent pilot. Nate wouldn't say he's "great" but he's not terrible, either. Except that he's way over confident with his skills.

  
Nate has seen people _drive_ with one hand but when Sullivan lets go of the controls with both to light a cigar and then takes hold with only one, Nate almost loses his breakfast. There will probably be dents in the leather seat where he white knuckled the sides for years to come.

  
"So what're we after, anyway?" Nate asks, desperate for something to take his mind off the fact that they're practically skimming the peaks of mountains. It's probably only a slight exaggeration that he could touch them if he rolled down the window and reached out.

  
"Don't know yet, we've still gotta meet with the client."

  
"What, this 'buddy' of yours didn't tell you?"

  
"He doesn't know either."

  
"Great." Nate digs out his notebook to pass the time (and to keep from looking out the window at the view that's making him nauseous). "That doesn't sound shady at all."

  
"It _is_ shady," Sully agrees. "Welcome to the business, Kid."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request, here's the continuation. (I really shouldn't be doing this...my poor manuscript is so lonely right now).

The client turns out to be a dried up old prune of a woman by the name of Diane Wheeler, who lives in a massive three story mansion swarming with armed guards and security cameras. According to Sullivan's Navy buddy, she's one of the wealthiest people in the country. A collector of antiques and ancient artifacts with three or four degrees in history, psychology, and a bunch of other needless stuff. Plus she's a real bitch. (His words, not Nate's.)

  
The only time Nathan's ever been this close to a mansion this impressive was when he was stealing from one, so as they pull up to the monstrous iron gates at the top of the drive in Sully's worn down 4x4, he can't help but be a little jittery. Of course Sullivan is nothing but charm and smiles as the guards frisk them for weapons and run metal detectors over their bodies. At least they speak English.

  
Nate is momentarily worried they'll try to take Sir Francis's ring from him but of course they don't even seem to notice it.

  
"Mrs. Wheeler is waiting for you in the foyer."

  
"Thanks, pal. C'mon, Nate." Sullivan leads them up to the front doors of the mansion, which seem to open by themselves as if by magic. But--obviously--it was just two more goons on the other side who let them in. And standing there to greet them atop a set of gleaming, white marble stairs, could only be Diane Wheeler herself.

  
Dressed in a black dress suit with her silver hair done up like an evil mastermind from the movies, she runs her piercing grey eyes over them in a way that can only be described as utter scrutiny.

  
"You must be Victor Sullivan," she says, a snooty lilt to her voice. Despite how thin and obviously ancient she, she doesn't seem old or feeble. Mrs. Wheeler stands there at the top of the staircase with her arms folded behind her back and her nose raised at them like she's the queen herself.

  
And then her gaze falls on Nate and she makes a kind of sour face.

  
"I wasn't told you would have...company."

  
Sully smiles thinly. Even with how short of a time Nate has known him, he can plainly see the distaste on the man's face. "This is Nate. He's my...business partner. He'll be helping out with the job."

  
Mrs. Wheeler scoffs. "What a shame."

  
Before either of them have a chance to inquire to what she means by that, Diane Wheeler turns on her fancy Italian heels and motions for them to follow her. Seemingly from no where, a couple of guards emerge from the shadows to "accompany" them.

  
Nate tries to keep his eyes down and his mind on the job as he follows Sullivan into the woman's office. But it's like the further they travel into the mansion, the more the artifacts in the display cases lining the walls seem to call out to him. He can't believe his eyes at some of the things in those cases. From emeralds as big as his fist to journals with yellowed pages bearing the sigils of ancient explorers to even chalices of gold embedded with precious gems.

  
But _none_ of them compare to what is laying on Diane Wheeler's desk when they enter her office.

  
It's a photo. Blurry and obviously zoomed in from a great distance but what the image shows is indisputable. Although Nate can't bring himself to believe it.

  
"And...this is what you want us to acquire for you, Mrs. Wheeler?" Sullivan asks in a voice so calm that Nate wonders if he knows what the item truly is.

  
"Yes. It is very precious and I have long sought for it to be added to my collection."

  
It's a physical effort on Nate's part to keep from snatching the photo up and demanding to know how in the hell this wrinkled old prune managed to find the honest-to-god _Florentine Diamond_!

  
Assuming it's the real deal...

  
"And of course you would be compensated handsomely."

  
Sully chuckles. "I'm afraid we need a little more information first."

  
Wheeler sighs and picks up the photo, turning it so she can gaze at the blurry image of the ancient, yellow diamond. "My contacts have located it in New York City, in the home of a man named Gregory Miller. He's quite wealthy and keeps a personal treasury of gold and other valuables in the vault beneath his home."

  
"Sounds like quite a job," Sullivan remarks. "I'm assuming it's guarded."

  
"Quite closely, yes. My best man could only get close enough to snap this image before he was forced to evacuate. Which is why I have decided to hire...outside help."

  
"And that's where we come in."

  
Wheeler nods her head. "I've heard you're good, Sullivan, but you're not a cheap man. I am willing to pay you a sum of seven hundred-thousand dollars in exchange for the safe delivery of the diamond."

  
Nate almost laughs. Seven hundred thousand? Who does this lady think she is trying to pay them a measly seven hundred grand for the _Florentine Diamond_?

  
Unless...

  
Glancing at Sully, he can see the pleased tug to the man's lips. Without a moment's pause, Sullivan agrees and shakes the woman's hand.

  
"I'll need an address. And blue prints with guard rotations."

  
"That can be arranged."

  
"Alright then, Mrs. Wheeler. I'll have your diamond to you by the end of the month."

  
Diane Wheeler smiles a tight lipped, wrinkly smile. "I like your confidence, Mr. Sullivan." Then her beady eyes land on Nate again. "Please see to it that this  _amateur_  doesn't slow you down."

* * *

 

" _Please see to it that this_ amateur _doesn't slow you down_." Nate mocks the woman in a nasally, irritating voice fit for an old crone such as her. "Please. She thinks she so smart."

  
Sully laughs. "I don't know, Kid. Did you see the degrees hanging on her wall? Harvard, Oxford, Princeton... She's doing something right." For a moment, as they're passing through the gates on their way out of the mansion's enormous driveway, Nate goes eerily quiet. It happens so suddenly that Sully thinks he might have offended the boy. Glancing over, however, he finds Nate eagerly chewing his lip and looking out the rear view mirror as if making sure they're not being followed. "Kid? Something wrong?"

  
"Wait. Just keep driving."

  
Sully blinks. Nate's tone is suddenly so serious that for a split second, he wonders if they are being followed. But a quick peek out the rear view mirror shows the driveway behind them entirely empty. Even so, Sully doesn't press the issue. He just looks straight ahead at the archway of palm trees guiding them down, down, down the driveway out to the dusty road so unfitting of a billionaire's mansion.

  
For several more minutes, they drive in silence. The only movement being Nate pulling out the manila folder Mrs. Wheeler gave to them and extracting the photograph of the diamond.

  
Finally, with one more glance behind them, Nate smirks.

  
"That old hag's not as smart as she thinks she is," he remarks.

  
"What do'ya mean? The diamond's not phony, is it?" Then again, how would the kid know just by looking at a blurry photo.

  
"No, it's genuine," the kid assures him. "But she took one look at us and figured we don't know our asses from a hole in the ground and that's where she made her first mistake."

  
"You're losin' me here, Kid. Just what the hell are you talkin' about?"

  
Suddenly excited, the same way he was in that bar in Cartagena when he asked about Francis Drake's ring, Nate turns in his seat and holds up the picture. "This isn't just any old diamond, Sully. Look at the color. Yellow with a slight hue of green. And this cut. It's barely visible but if you look closely you can see it. Nine sided. 126-facet double rose cut."

  
Sully shakes his head, utterly lost, but Nate doesn't seem to notice. He's staring at the picture again with wide, blue eyes.

  
"This is the _Florentine_ Diamond, Sully. Last seen in the 1920s. It was worth seven hundred grand _back then_. Nowadays it's worth _ten times_ as much."

  
A flock of birds scatters into the air at the ear piercing shriek of the 4x4's brakes. Sully stares at the kid with his mouth agape.

  
"And...and how exactly do you know about this thing, Kid? Are you sure?"

  
Nate nods so confidently Sully can't help but believe him. "It's sort of my thing, these lost treasures." _Mine and Sam's._

 

"And it's worth... _seven million_ now?"

 

"Maybe more."

  
Sullivan drops his hands from the wheel into his lap, staring with a loose grin out the windshield, not really seeing anything but dollar signs. "Shit. And that was just her first mistake?"

  
Nate grins and holds up the manila folder containing the address of the treasury, guard rotations, security information, and everything else they'll need. "Her second mistake was calling me an amateur."

  
Sully barks a laugh and presses down on the gas again.

  
"So...we're dicking her over, right?" Nate asks, tucking the photo back into the envelope.

  
"Goddamn right we're dicking her over for seven million bucks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no plans for this fic...I am literally writing by the seat of my pants here lmao. Enjoy?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this chapter came from. lol

Sully has an apartment in Florida. Actually not all that far from Wheeler's mansion, though most of his neighbors are anything but billionaires. The parking lot is more gravel than pavement and overgrown with weeds and fire ant nests. (Which Sully advises him to avoid. Obviously). Most of the windows have iron bars over them and the tacky neon sign advertising the place is dim in more than a few bulbs.

  
Sullivan parks his Jeep between a jet black Harley Davidson and something that can only be described as a pimp-mobile. Needless to say, Nate keeps an especially tight grip on the manila folder as he follows Sullivan onto the cracked sidewalk and up to a faded brown door. There are a couple of creeps sitting a few doors down, staring shamelessly at them as they down what appears to be their fiftieth beer for the evening. They're both shirtless, hairy old men with ratty beards. Nate makes a point of not making eye contact. That is, until one of them whistles.

  
"Hey, Victor. Long time no see," he yells in a gruff voice. His tone doesn't sound very friendly, but maybe that's just because he's drunk off his ass.

  
Sully looks up and smirks. "Good to see ya, Joe. You too, Max." The door unlocks and Sullivan pushes it open.

  
"Who's your little _friend_ , there?" The second one--Max--asks. He sounds a little too interested for Nate's liking.

  
" A friend's kid," Sully lies through a smile. "I'm looking after him for a while."

  
"You two gonna be in town long?"

  
"Nah, just passing through, I'm afraid." Sully lightly pushes Nate inside the door and thankfully the kid doesn't fight him.

  
"Damn, I was hopin' to catch up..."

  
"Some other time, I guess," Sully says as he, too, steps inside and shuts the door, immediately pulling the chain across.

  
"Nice neighbors you got there," Nate remarks dryly. He expects Sullivan to laugh, claim they give the place "character" or some other such light heartedness. Instead, Sully turns and gives him a hard look.

  
"Listen, Kid, you might wanna skip those walks you like so much until we're outta town." The message is punctuated by Sullivan kneeling down in the center of the room and sliding aside the dusty throw rug to reveal a loose board in the floor. From which he pulls a small, compact pistol.

  
"Woah...what's _that_ for?"

  
Sullivan holds it out to him. Nate doesn't take it.

  
"I didn't know those guys were out of prison, if I had, we woulda' stayed at a hotel. But we're here now and if we'd tried to leave, they'd only give us trouble." He grabs Nate's hand and places the pistol in it, ignoring the way the kid has visibly paled at his words. "Here's lesson number one, Kid: if a person means to do you harm, you'll know it. You have good instincts, so listen to them." He closes Nate's fingers around the gun. "Either of those guys try to come in here, you shoot first and ask questions later."

  
Nate stares at him, wide eyed. "I...I don't think--"

  
"Nate." Pulling a second gun from the hole in the floorboards, he tucks it into his waistband. "You remember Cartagena? That guy woulda' _killed you_ , Kid. And I won't always be around to save your ass."

  
Looking down at the gun in his hand, Nate swallows and nods his head. Though he still looks pale and sick to his stomach. "What, uh, what were they in prison for?" He almost doesn't want to ask.

  
Sully just grimaces. "You can imagine."

  
Yeah, he can imagine.

* * *

 

An hour later, Sully is sitting at the kitchen table listening to the kid prattle off all the information he knows about this 'Florentine Diamond'. Apparently it's got some kind of Indian origin and has been passed around from owner to owner like the world's most expensive hot potato. For a long while, its history was disputed but nowadays just about everyone agrees that it was last seen somewhere in the USA.

  
And evidently, it's now in New York in this guy Gregory Miller's personal treasury. Some guys just have all the luck.

  
They pull the papers out of Mrs. Wheeler's envelope and spread them out around the table. There are three sets of blueprints, one for the main floor, one for the second floor, and one for the basement treasury (which is vague to say the least). Guard routes and rotations are marked on each paper as well as security cameras, alarms, dogs units, and viable access and exit points.

  
In all, this is gonna be a little like breaking into Fort goddamn Knox.

  
But the kid seems confident enough. Jumpy, but confident. Sully'll admit he feels a little bad about spooking the kid. It was necessary to keep him out of harm's way but maybe he went a little overboard. After all, Joe and Max have never done anything to him, it was just a matter of a little too much research that he found out what they went to jail for...

  
He just really didn't like the way they were looking at Nate. Poor kid's got enough problems already.

  
Of course it's at that moment that there's a knock on the door. Nate jumps and Sully stands up, touching the gun on his hip.

  
"Delivery!"

  
Taking his hand off the pistol, Sully glances sideways at Nate, who is rubbing the back of his neck and sighs deeply, giving him a look. Standing up to get the door, Sullivan snorts a humorless laugh. Just about the only perk to living here (other than the cheap-as-hell rent and the easy-going landlord who lets Sully keep the place without every hardly living in it) is the Chinese takeout joint just down the road. Their dumplings are a godsend.

  
Unbolting the chain across the door, he opens it and smiles at the young Asian delivery man standing on the other side. There are two paper bags printed with the restaurant's logo that smell of soy sauce and deep friers. Nate comes up beside him to take the bags inside while Sully forks over the money and tip. By the time the door shuts again and Sully turns around, the food is laid out on the table (a safe distance from their work) and Nate is already bent over the papers again, intently pouring over the information.

  
For some reason, Sully can't help but smirk at the sight of the kid's shaggy hair falling in his face, a loose fist pressed thoughtfully against his chin. There are a couple chopsticks in his other hand but he hasn't touched the food yet, just toying with the utensils instead. Silently wondering when he became so fond of the little wise ass, Sully shakes his head and flops down at the table beside him, cracking open the first box of rice.

  
"So I'm thinking we go in through here," Nate says, pointing to a spot on the map with his chopsticks. "There's only three guards patrolling this particular area and it's near a window that'll drop us right inside the first floor."

  
Sully nods, chewing. "Well," he swallows his mouthful and pulls the map a little closer. "That'd work, except it's pretty damn far from the front gate, we'd have to cross the whole goddamn courtyard," he points out. "And that window wouldn't bring us very close to the basement door. We'd still have to maneuver the whole way through the first floor."

  
Nate hums in agreement. "Alright, you're the master thief here, what do you think?"

  
Sully chuckles and slides the rice away (in Nate's direction) and turns the map so he can see it. "I'm thinkin' here." He motions to a window on the second floor. "It'll take some work to get up there but look: it's right at the top of the steps and the basement door is directly underneath."

  
Shifting to another of the maps, Sully checks on where the nearest alarms are and where the dogs will be patrolling when Nate silently rises from his chair. Peering up at him, Sullivan doesn't miss the tension in the kid's shoulders. But then again, he's always tense and on guard. Still...

  
"Something the matter?"

  
Nate doesn't answer right away. He holds up a hand for Sullivan to be quite.

  
For a long moment, nothing but silence passes between them.

  
And then, somewhere outside, a door bangs loudly shut and there's the stomps of heavy, drunken footfalls on the sidewalk.

  
Slowly, Sully rises from his chair. "Kid."

  
Without looking back, Nate nods his head and steps away from the table. He has the gun in his hand but only loosely. Sullivan, on the other hand, has his pistol cocked and ready as the footsteps grow louder.

  
Both of them jump as someone bangs on the door.

  
"Hey! Victor! Open up!" Joe's voice is too deep and slurred and obviously very, very drunk. He bangs a few more times at the door before Max starts yelling. Sully can't tell what he's saying but it sounds vulgar and threatening.

  
It's at times like this when Sully wishes he wasn't so at odds with the police. If he were to call them now, there's just as big a chance that he'll be arrested as Joe and Max. Not to mention the kid, who he flew overseas without a passport.

  
The kid.

  
Sully looks over his shoulder at Nate, expecting him to look scared. And he does. Not outwardly, on the outside, Nate's expression is hard as stone. But there's a gleam of fear in his eyes and he's several shades too pale.

  
"Hey," the sound of his whispered voice is enough to make Nate jump. "I'd rather not throw down with these guys," Sully says. "If we get out the window over there, we might be able to reach the Jeep before they realize we're not inside."

  
Nate pauses, opens his mouth to say something, but a particularly loud shout from Max and Joe beginning to kick the door shuts him right up. He nods and they turn and hustle as quietly as they can toward the window at the back of the kitchen.

  
It shrieks as Sully shoves it open and they hesitate, listening to see if they've been caught. But the shouting and the kicking continue on, unhindered, and Sully motions Nate outside first since the door doesn't sound like it's going to last much longer.

  
Thankfully the kid fits through with ease, his narrow frame small enough to have an inch of space on all sides. Sully, however, has more of a struggle fitting his wide shoulders through the narrow slot.

  
And that's when the door explodes inward.

  
"Hey! The kid's outside! Go around back!"

  
" _Shit_!"

  
Suddenly there are powerful arms grabbing at Sully, yanking him back inside. He lands heavily on his back on the hard linoleum floor, a work boot kicking his pistol to the side. Somewhere outside, he can hear a struggle, the kid cursing at his attacker and a metal trash can being knocked over.

  
Sully scrambles to his feet, narrowly dodging a slow, drunken punch thrown by Joe. He ducks past the sluggish, glassy-eyed bastard and makes a grab for his gun.

  
Both men flinch at the sound of a gun shot ringing out from the backyard.

  
Sully's heart slams into his throat. "Kid?!"

  
His strangled yell is met only by silence.

  
Joe recovers from the shock before Sully and suddenly, the fat, sweaty man has jumped on his back. A hairy arm latched across his throat and pulling backwards.

  
Sully sees stars. He throws an elbow back and it connects with the side of Joe's head. The bastard doesn't even loosen his grip.

  
His beefy arm squeezes tighter and tighter over Sully's throat.

  
His vision is starting to go black.

  
Then, suddenly, there's a bang and Joe let's go of him. Sully shoves him away, staggering and coughing, desperately sucking in air. Blinking the stars out of his eyes, he turns to see what happened.

  
And there's Nate standing just inside the archway to the kitchen, holding a smoking pistol in his hands. Joe falls to the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder and cursing. Nate lowers the gun and sways, touching his side. It's only then that Sully notices the blood there.

  
"Shit, kid...are you alright?"

  
Nate just nods and tucks the gun into his waistband. "We gotta go." His voice cracks, and he hustles into the living room, grabbing the maps. That's when Sully notices the sound of police sirens wailing in the distance. Someone must've heard the gunshots.

  
Sully follows the kid into the other room and helps gather the last of the papers. They're in the Jeep and speeding down the road only moments before the cops pull into the apartment complex.

  
"Won't they put a warrant out for you or something?" Nate asks. "I mean, it's not gonna exactly be hard to find out who lives there."

  
Sully shrugs. "They can put out as many warrants as they want. I'm sure Victor Johnson won't mind."

  
Nate laughs breathlessly. "Crafty old bastard."

  
"That's lesson number two, kid. Aliases and fake ID's are your new best friend."

  
As the 4x4 bumps along the eroded highway, Sully steals a glance over at Nate. He looks okay, if a little shaken, but the blood seeping through his shirt says otherwise.

  
"What happened there?" he says.

  
Nate looks down in surprise as if he'd forgotten all about it. "Oh, uh, that other asshole, uh...Max? He got the gun from me."

  
"He shot you?"

  
The kid shrugs lamely. "Just a graze. It barely even hurts."

  
So that's what the first gunshot was, then. What's with all these goddamn bastards trying to shoot a kid lately?

  
Shaking his head, Sully steers the Jeep off the side of the road and turns in his seat. "Lemme see it."

  
"It's fine."

  
"I'll be the judge of that, let me see."

  
With a long dramatic, teenage sigh, Nate removes his hand from the injury.

  
It's not as bad as Sully had feared, barely a graze, as Nate said. But it's still bleeding a fair amount and could use some stitches. Not to mention cleaning it. Sully nods and sits forward again. A moment later, the car is back on the road.

  
"We'll get a hotel for tonight and head out to New York tomorrow."

  
Nate hums and shifts in his seat. When he doesn't think Sully can see him, he pulls up the hem of his shirt to see the injury. His brow stitches in the pain he supposedly "barely feels" and he sits back, pressing his hand against it again.

  
"You gonna be alright to pull the job?"

  
"Of course."

  
"It's alright if you wanna just relax for a few days. It's been one hell of a--"

  
"Sully. I'm fine."

  
"...alright then."

* * *

 

They ditch the Jeep in a grocery store parking lot half a mile from a Bed and Breakfast. Sully lights a cigar and then takes the flame to his fake ID, tossing the remnants of it into the dumpster behind the store. After that, they walk the rest of the way to the hotel. Nate toughs it out but with every step his injury grows more and more tender. By the time they reach the Bed and Breakfast, there's no hiding his discomfort.

  
Sully instructs him to wait outside until he has a key to a room. As soon as the attendant at the front desk disappears, he smuggles Nate upstairs and they lock themselves into their room, stopping only long enough to raid the first aid kit in the hallway.  
Sully doesn't even get a chance to offer to help him, Nate just takes the rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, and bandages and disappears into the bathroom.

  
Sullivan turns on the television and waits, though he doesn't watch the program that's on. He's too wrapped up in wondering what the hell he's gotten himself into.

  
What does he know about taking care of a kid?

  
Sure, Nate seems to be perfectly content with taking care of himself. But he's only had the kid for two days and already they've illegally crossed the border, got into a gun fight, and evaded police.

  
This shit was hard enough with only himself to look after, but now to add a teenager to the mix?

  
Has Sullivan lost his _goddamn mind_?

  
The bathroom door creaks open and Nate pads out. There's a bandage pasted over his injured side and his ruined shirt is rolled into a ball in the bathroom trash can.

  
The kid is grinning.

  
Sully blinks in surprise. "Something funny?"

  
"We almost died." Nate laughs, hard. Harder than Sullivan has ever heard him laugh. It must be contagious too because suddenly Sully finds himself chuckling as well. For several seconds, they just stand there in their little, cramped Bed and Breakfast room at two in the morning laughing their asses off. "Ow, ow, ow," Nate's fit of near-hysterical giggles fade away as he limps over to the couch and flops down. "Well...this was a fun day. I'm going to sleep."

  
"Yeah, me too. No way to know what tomorrow'll bring."

  
"Something tells me it'll be more of the same."

  
"Probably." Sully flips off the light and lays down, not bothering with the blankets. "Hey, kid."

  
"Huh?"

  
"Thanks for saving my ass back there. Couldn't have been easy."

  
"Eh, now we're even."

  
Sully smirks. "You sure you want to pull this job?"

  
"For seven million bucks and a chance to see the Florentine Diamond? Hell yeah."


	4. Chapter 4

Sully wakes to the sound of soft chatter from downstairs. The small but cozy Bed and Breakfast room is dimly lit with greyish light coming in from the windows and he can smell coffee and butter and maple syrup. Somewhere below them, a woman laughs. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Sullivan looks over at the little digital alarm clock on the dresser beside him. 9:21. Damn, they overslept.

  
Sitting up, he stretches and slides his shoes back on (he must have kicked them off during the night). Craning his neck to see over the back of the little sofa by the TV, he can barely make out the top of Nate's head, motionless. Still asleep then. Dragging himself out of bed, Sully trudges over, intending to wake the kid so they can get a move on.

  
They've got a long way back to the airport where he stored his plane and an even longer flight ahead of them.

  
But as Sully rounds the couch, he stops himself. Nate is still fast asleep. His mouth hanging open, chest rising and falling slowly, one arm slung across his face, the other dangling off the couch. The bandage on his side is dark in the center where blood has soaked through.

  
Right, he'll need more bandages. And a new shirt.

  
Sully turns and heads for the door. Maybe if he's lucky, he can scrape together some breakfast for them and then he'll try to find some new clothes and bandages for Nate.

  
Padding down the carpeted steps, he rounds the corner into the dining room where the hotel's other tenants are sat around enjoying a late breakfast of pancakes soaked in butter and syrup with mugs of steaming coffee. A few of them glance his way, fewer offer polite smiles, but otherwise he goes unnoticed on his way to the breakfast bar.

  
Grabbing two plates, he flops a few pancakes onto each and smears them with toppings. He lays a fork and knife on each plate and then moves down to the drinks. Coffee for him and...what? Orange juice for the kid? Or is that too juvenile? Pausing to give it a moment of thought, Sully grabs a third cup. Fills two coffee and the third with orange juice. Nate can pick what he wants.

  
He's turning away from the bar when the front door opens with the jingle of a bell. From where the dining room is positioned in relation to the lobby, Sully can't see who comes in. But when the receptionist speaks, he sounds much more alert and happy than any normal receptionist at nine in the morning.

  
"Good morning, officer. Can I help you?"

  
Sully stops in his tracks, still balancing his tower of plates and drinks.

  
"Good morning. Is there anyone by the name of Victor Johnson staying here? He would have checked in last night, around one or two in the morning in the company of a teenage boy."

  
Sully can hear the receptionist flipping through the pages of the check-in list and he knows the answer will be no. Just to be safe, Sully used one of his oldest aliases. Plus, they don't even know Nate's here.

  
"No, I'm sorry, sir. The only person to check in at that time last night was a man by the name of Hank Sullivan. And he checked in alone."

  
"Hm, well would it be possible for me to speak with Mr. Sullivan?"

  
"Um, I'm not sure if he's awake. I haven't seen him yet."

  
For a split second, Sully considers making a break for the staircase but suddenly booking it like that would look awfully suspicious. So instead, he sets the plates down and tries to make a casual escape into the bathroom.

  
He doesn't quite make it.

  
"Oh! Mr. Sullivan, you're awake." It's the receptionist. Repressing a sigh, Sully plasters on his most convincing smile and turns to face them.

  
"Yeah, I just got up. Good morning."

  
The officer--a weasley looking man with intense, dark eyes and a buzz cut--steps forward. "Good morning, sir. I'm Officer Walmer. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

  
Sully widens his eyes, feigning surprise. "Well, sure. What about?"

  
"Are you here alone, sir?"

 

Damn. He was hoping to avoid this conversation. "No, my son's asleep upstairs."

  
"But you checked in alone," the receptionist shoots in. The officer raises an eyebrow.

  
"Yeah, Nate was turning off the car. He came in a few seconds after me."

  
"How old is your son, Mr. Sullivan?" the officer asks.

  
"Fourteen."

  
"Hm," the officer looks him up and down, obviously making connections. The landlord of his apartment building would have told him a description of what to look for. A middle aged man with dark hair, a mustache, medium build. And Joe and Max would have described Nate as a teenager, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Unfortunately there's no way to get out of this by lying. One slip up will land them in prison. (Well, Sully will be in jail, Nate in juvy or state custody). The best lies are always part-truths. "And where were you and your son coming from last night?"

  
"We were visiting my sister," Sully tells him, an age old lie he's used hundreds of times. He knows the false story like the back of his hand. "We planned to spend the night but my kid started feeling sick so we thought it might be best to just head out and get a hotel."

  
Officer Walmer nods his head, but he doesn't look convinced. "You from out of town then?"

  
"Yep, all the way from New York City."

  
"Really. You headed back that way this morning?"

  
"Yeah, wish we could stay longer. You know not everyone likes Florida weather but I love it, being this warm all the time."

  
The officer doesn't get distracted the way Sully had hoped he would. Of course he would get stuck with the worst kind of cop: the diligent kind. "Uh huh. What kind of vehicle do you drive, Mr. Sullivan?"

  
Goddamn, doesn't this guy ever quit? "I don't, actually, not much need of one in the city. I've just been taking taxis to get around here."

  
"And where exactly does your sister live? Would she be able to confirm your story if I gave her a call?"

  
Shit. He hates this part, so sloppy. "Uh, actually, she's--"

  
"Dad?"

  
Sully almost jumps at the sound of Nate's voice. Whipping around toward the staircase, he sees the kid trotting down after him, wearing a wrinkled shirt he's never seen before with his hair all mussed like he just rolled out of bed. He offers the cop a polite smile and then turns to Sully.

  
"Sorry, I didn't know you were talking to someone."

  
"That's alright," Officer Walmer cuts in. "Are you this man's son?"

  
Nate nods and holds out his hand. "Nate Sullivan."

  
Nate Sullivan? Wait, how did he...?

  
The shakes his hand. "Officer Walmer. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

  
Nate shrugs his shoulders. "I don't mind but uh, Dad we're gonna miss our plane if we don't leave soon."

  
"I won't hold you up for too long," the officer assures them. "Where are you from, Nate?"

  
Shit. There's no way he's gonna know--

  
"New York."

  
What the hell?

  
"And what were you and your father doing in Florida?"

  
"Visiting my aunt. It was her birthday yesterday."

  
"And you got here around two in the morning?"

  
"Uh...I think it was more like one thirty, but yeah. Close enough."

  
"Did either of you hear or see anything unusual on your way here?"

  
Nate and Sully make a point of glancing questioningly at each other. They both shake their heads. "No, why? Did something happen?"

  
The officer waves the question away. "I'm afraid I can't discuss it at this time."

  
And then, an honest to god alarm goes off. An incessant, high pitched beeping. Nate digs his watch out of his pocket and makes a face, turning the alarm off. "Seriously, Dad, we gotta go or we're gonna miss our flight."

  
"I can call you a taxi," the receptionist offers.

  
"Thanks," Nate smiles at him. "Assuming...we're okay to go?"

  
Officer Walmer gives them one last appraising look before nodding his head. "You can go, thanks for your help."

  
"No problem."

  
The receptionist hustles to the front desk to call them a taxi. Nate and Sully follow in tow, just to get away from the cop.

  
The whole time they wait for their ride to arrive, Sully struggles not to stare in awe at his young protege. He knew the kid had talent but that was pretty goddamn incredible.

  
And then the bright yellow taxi pulls up and they both slide in. It's only then that Sully remembers the maps.

 

"Ah, hang on, we forgot the--"

  
Nate smirks and pats his satchel. "Got them."

  
Sully sits back, thoroughly impressed. "And the shirt?"

  
"Found it in the dresser. It's kinda big but hey, whatever works." 'Kinda big' is an understatement. Nate is practically swimming in the navy blue crew neck. He has the sleeves bunched up and they still reach half an inch past his fingertips. Not to mention that it hangs almost halfway to his knees.

  
As the cab pulls away, they both sit in silence, waiting for the cop to come out and try to tail them but he never does. They're officially off the hook.

  
"How the hell did you know what to say?" Sully finally demands.

  
Nate scoffs. " _Please_ , you don't get as far as I have in life without learning how to eavesdrop."

  
Sullivan laughs, he has to admit it, the kid's not wrong. "Well you did good. Now, what do you say we go catch our plane?"

* * *

 

It takes almost four hours to reach New York by Sully's rickety, old stunt plane, and by the time they roll into the hangar and get a rental car, Nate is ravenous. The smell of pancakes from the Bed and Breakfast is stuck in his mind and he's fairly certain he would kill for some bacon.

  
Well.

  
Maybe not _kill_... He's had enough of that kind of excitement for all of eternity.

  
But he could definitely go for some breakfast right about now. (Or lunch).

  
Thankfully, Sully whips their rented car into the parking lot of the first restaurant he sees. Nate doesn't even mind that parking lot is full of old grandmas and crying kids. They park the car and head in, being immediately greeted by an overly-friendly hostess with a big smile and freckled cheeks.

  
"Good morning! Table for two?"

  
"Yes, _please_ ," Sully says, his voice suddenly taking on a very...interested tone. Nate looks up at him and could almost gag at the shamelessly flirty smile he throws her way. The poor girl is half his age. Hell, less than half. She can't be much older than Nate, maybe seventeen or eighteen.

  
"Right this way!" She leads them off toward the back of the charming little diner, her shiny brown hair bobbing up and down as she trots ahead of them.

  
The hostess (whose name turns out to be Jenny) seats them in a small booth right next to a spacious bay window. She draws out two menus from her apron and smiles brilliantly at them, telling them that their waiter will be right there.

  
"Thanks, darlin'."

  
She smiles again and practically bounces away.

  
Sully opens his menu and scans down the list of food, apparently oblivious to the way Nate is staring at him. That is until Drake laughs humorlessly and looks down at his own menu.

  
"You are a dirty, old man, Sullivan."

  
Instead of denying it, Sully just laughs. "You gotta admit, kid, she was a cute girl."

  
"Sure, and young enough to be your daughter."

  
The old crook makes a noise like pain and covers his heart. "That was cold."

  
Nate shrugs, unable to wipe the amused grin off his face long enough to come up with another witty remark.

  
Their waiter comes by a moment later and they place their order. Sully asks for something off the lunch menu and some kind of mixed drink. Nate on the other hand orders the biggest stack of pancakes on the menu with a side of bacon and when his meal arrives, he smothers it with butter and syrup and downs the whole meal in about five minutes.

  
"So, what time are we moving on this place?" Nate whispers, leaning in.

  
"Soon as it gets dark." Sully tells him. "When we're done here we'll find a place to stay and go over the maps one more time, come up with some backup plans in case it gets hairy."

  
A ghost of a smile touches the kid's lips. Taking a sip of his coffee, Nate sits back in his seat and turns his head to look out the window, suddenly distant. Sully almost questions him about it but stops himself. The kid's been warming up to him recently but he's still got that caginess about him. It's probably better not to press him every time he goes quiet.

  
So instead, Sully just returns to his meal and a comfortable silence falls between them.

* * *

 

These last few days, Nate can't stop thinking about Sam. Or more specifically, what he'll think of his little brother's most recent business development.

  
It's been almost a year since Sam was arrested and (if the prison plays nice) he should be released in just under six months. Nate will have to be there to meet him when he gets out, otherwise Sam would panic. But that's all the way back in Colombia. Getting there himself will be a pain in the ass, not to mention dangerous. It was one thing to cross the border on Sam's bike, alongside his brother's cool confidence and fake passports. But to go alone?

  
Glancing sideways at Sullivan, Nate instantly throws that idea away. Sure, the guy's got a plane, and connections, and fake ID's but he couldn't possibly ask him to fly him all the way _back to Colombia_ to pick up the brother he doesn't know Nate has from a prison halfway around the world.

  
No he'll just have to do it himself.

  
_...and then what?_ he wonders.

  
Go back to working with Sullivan? Stay with Sam? Try to get them to work together?

 

No way that'd work. Besides...

  
Nate looks down at Sir Francis's ring hanging around his neck. Its aged surface catches the light from the window, the famous inscription glinting bright silver.

  
_Sic Parvis Magna._

  
Yeah.

  
_Keep your priorities straight, Nathan,_ he reminds himself. _Remember, you're just sticking around long enough to get some money together and then you're going back to Colombia to wait for Sam. You've made it just fine on your own until now._

  
Somehow that thought doesn't make him feel any better.

  
While Sullivan pays for their meal, Nate pulls out his sketchbook and flips through the pages. At the very front, taped securely to the inside cover, is the Polaroid of him and Sam the day they found Mom's journals.

  
The day they stopped being Nathan and Samuel Morgan and became Drakes instead. Fortune hunters.

  
They're in this together, they always have been.

  
And they always will be.


	5. Chapter 5

On their way into the city, Sullivan stops at a tourist-trap gift shop to get a few things they'll need for the heist. The place is little more than a hole in the wall in an old brownstone building with tall arched windows and a single glass door leading inside. The mannequins on display are dressed head to toe in _I Heart NYC_ clothes and the walls are lined with postcards, mugs, and key chains. Thankfully, he and Nate are far from the only customers so Sully's not too uncomfortable stuffing road maps, flashlights, spare batteries, a mini first aid kit, and enough black (and other dark toned) clothes for them to wear into the shopping cart.

  
As for the kid, he wanders off almost as soon as they're in the door. Sully's not too surprised, though. Ever since they left the diner, Nate's been ominously quiet. Every time Sullivan asks him a question, his response is short and to the point, no more of the witty repartee they've had for the last three days. Suddenly he's back to the shifty-eyed pickpocket from Colombia, constantly glancing over his shoulder and keeping to himself.

  
Trying to ignore the nagging feeling that maybe he said something to offend the kid, Sully takes his cart up to the checkout counter. If the cashier thinks anything strange of their purchases, he doesn't say anything, just swipes their price tags and stuffs them into bright blue plastic bags.

  
"Have a good day, sir," the cashier says in a bored voice.

  
Sully thanks him and makes a beeline for Nate, who's flipping through the pages of a book he pulled off the shelf. One look at the back cover (with its hand-drawn representation of King Henry VIII and list of bullet-pointed facts) and he knows it's some kind of history book. "Come on, kid. We've got a lot to do."

  
Without even looking up at him, Nate puts the book down and heads for the door, Sully following after him with a frown on his face. They slide into the rent-a-car and Nate unfolds the road map, scanning the list of icons in the key for hotels.  
They navigate to the nearest one in a heavy silence, the only words between being directions and whether to turn left or right at the McDonalds. By the time they reach the towering brick building behind the hotel sign, Sully is officially fed up with Nate's new attitude. But still he holds his tongue.

  
If there's one thing Sully remembers about being a moody teenager, it's that you don't want some know-it-all adult questioning you.

  
Besides, despite what they told that police officer, Nate's not his son. If he wants to be distant, more power to him. So long as he holds up his end of the deal and helps him find the Florentine Diamond, Sully doesn't care.

  
He just wishes he knew what triggered this sudden change.

 

* * *

 

Nate can tell Sullivan is getting pissed. Well, maybe not _pissed_ but he's definitely wondering what the hell is up. He keeps throwing Nate these sidelong looks as they stand awkwardly next to each other in the elevator, watching the floors tick by on the dial above the door.

  
Third floor, fourth floor, fifth...

  
There's a ding and the silver doors slide open. Sully steps out first and Nate follows him tow. They walk in silence, scanning the room numbers to find 516. There's a young couple arguing in the hallway, screaming at each other about something or other. The man's suitcase is laying on the floor, open, all of his clothing and belongings scattered about. The woman's mascara is smeared down to her cheeks and her eyes are puffy from crying.

  
Things look dangerously tense between them. The man's fists are balled up and the woman's voice is continually getting louder and louder.

  
Sullivan doesn't look like he's going to stop and interfere but Nate can't help but fear one of them is going to hit the other.

  
He's just slowing down to maybe say something when the woman hisses a furious insult and stomps away into the elevator.

  
As for the man, he sees Nate slowing down and cuts him an evil glare. So Drake just keeps walking, jogging lightly to catch up with Sully, who doesn't appear to have noticed he was gone. Or maybe he did and he just didn't care. Either way, they find room 516 about six doors down and let themselves in with their key.

  
Sully puts the bags down on one of the twin beds and takes out two flashlights, a pack of batteries, and the road maps they'd used to get here. Nate frowns when he realizes the bag still isn't empty. Then it's being tossed in his direction and he catches it, raising an eyebrow at Sullivan.

  
"You should go change those bandages," he says. His tone isn't as angry as Nate might have thought it would be but he certainly doesn't sound pleased. "There's a change of clothes in there too."

  
Nate pulls out a small first aid kit from the shopping bag. Suddenly feeling guilty for the way he's been trying to distance himself, he cracks a thin smile and nods his head. "Thanks."

  
"Don't mention it."

  
With that, Nate goes into their bathroom and shuts the door. The light pings on automatically, flickering an artificial yellow. Sitting down on the edge of the tub, he tugs up his enormous shirt to get a look at the bandages underneath. There's a dark red stain at the center but it doesn't feel wet so he slowly, gingerly peels the soiled bandage away from his skin, shivering as it momentarily sticks to the tender wound. He tosses it into the trashcan then sit back for a moment, slightly regretting this. It hadn't hurt much before but now his side is throbbing incessantly. Some of the scabbing must have been ripped off with the bandage because a little blood has beaded up on his skin and pressing the cotton pad soaked with antiseptic burns like a raging wildfire.  
Maybe it was the initial shock of being shot but it hurts way more today than it did the day before. By the time Nate has himself bandaged back up, he feels weak and shaky and a little clammy. His hands are trembling so bad he knocks the bottle of antiseptic off the sink and it lands with loud clatter into the tub.

  
He jumps when Sullivan knocks on the door.

  
"You alright in there?"

  
"Yeah...be out in a sec..." He grimaces at the crack in his voice and turns on the water in the sink to rinse his face. And the blood from his fingers.

  
Once he's got ahold of himself again, Nate bandages himself back up and puts on a fresh change of clothes (a dark grey tee shirt and black jeans). When he leaves the bathroom, he finds Sully sitting on one of the beds, bent over the maps and rubbing his chin. He looks up as Nate closes the door and even with the whole length of the room between them, Nate can feel his eyes scanning him, wondering what the hell is up.

  
Stuck under Sullivan's scrutinizing gaze, Nate--for once in his life--has no idea what to say. On one hand, he feels pretty shitty for how he's been acting. It might not be obvious just by looking at him, but Sully's a pretty decent guy. Better than most, Nate would venture. And he doesn't want to seem ungrateful for Sully saving his life...

  
But on the other hand, there's Sam. Nate can't hang around with Sullivan forever, eventually, he's gonna go back to his older brother. So what's the point of getting friendly and attached when he's just gonna disappear one day?

  
Eventually, Nate's limbs come back to him and he moves out of the doorway and over to the bed where the maps are laid out. Trying his best not to sound as awkward as he feels, he kneels down on the floor to get a better look at what Sullivan's been working on.

  
He opens his mouth to ask how thing's are going but Sullivan speaks first.

  
"I've been thinking, kid," he says, suddenly refusing to look him in the eye. "Maybe you should sit this job out."

  
It takes a moment for Nate to register what he means by that. But when he does, he bristles and jumps to his feet. "Bull _shit_ I'm sitting it out! Maybe you forgot, old man, but you wouldn't have even known about the diamond if it wasn't for me!"

  
"Hey," Sullivan stands as well, hold up a hand to calm him. " _Watch it_ , kid," he warns him. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant, between the gunshot--"

  
"Which I _said_ is fine."

  
"--and all the...excitement of these past few days, you seem a little...distracted--"

  
"I'm _not_ distracted."

  
"--and that can get you _killed_ in our line of work, kid."

  
Nate frowns and crosses his arms. Lifting his chin defiantly, he glares daggers at Sullivan. "I'm going. You can't stop me." For a split second, Nate sees a genuine anger in Sully's eyes. More than the frustration of dealing with a smart ass kid, actual fury. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it's gone again. And now he just looks weary.

  
"Listen, Nate. I'll be damned if I'm gonna save your life--twice--just to get you killed in the very same week."

  
Without him meaning to, Nate's expression softens a little. He can feel it shift from stone-hard defiance to a more understanding glare. He unfolds his arms as well, letting them hang by his sides. "I told you I can take care of myself. I'm not your responsibility. If I die, I die. It's not your problem to worry about." Even as he's saying it, he knows it's bullshit. They've both saved each other's asses more than once and a certain kind of bond forms between people who protect each other. While it's true Sully isn't his dad, and he has no real reason to feel responsible for him, Nate knows he does.

  
It's just the principal of the thing.

  
Shockingly, Sully doesn't try to argue. He just sighs and sits down on the bed, massaging a headache out of his temples. "You're a real piece of work, kid," he grumbles, sounding tired.

  
Nate smirks thinly. "So I've heard."

  
Sully looks up at him with a half a smile of his own at the retort. "Have you always been this argumentative?"

  
"Pretty much."

  
The old crook chuckles and shakes his head, digging a cigar out of his shirt pocket. He lights it and Nate wrinkles his nose and wanders off to the opposite side of the room to escape its pungent odor.

  
"Those things'll kill you, you know," Nate mutters, sitting down on the other bed.

  
Sully snorts. "Kid, I expect I'll die long before lung cancer gets a crack at me."

  
Nate gives him a look and the old man shrugs his shoulders, grinning as he takes long, deep drag of his cigar. Nate rolls his eyes.

  
Things are quiet for a while after that. Not the tense silence of before but a more...contemplative stillness. Nate sits on the other bed, flipping through the pages of a National Geographic some previous tenant left in the room while Sully puffs his cigar and looks out the window at the darkening city. A brief peek at the digital clock beside the TV reveals that it's nearly eight o'clock. They'll be leaving for the Miller Estate soon.

  
And then what Nate said comes flooding back to him. What if, by some horrible turn of events, he _does_ die?

  
He's not scared, definitely not. But as always, his thoughts turn to Sam. His brother would never know what happened to him.

  
Six months from now, he'd be getting out of jail only to find that his baby brother was missing. He'd spend months--maybe years--looking for him but if Nate were dead, he'd never know. He would think he'd failed him. He would think Nate had died because he wasn't there to protect him.

  
How the hell would Sam know Nate died thousands of miles away trying to lift a priceless diamond out of a billionaire's estate? He wouldn't. He would think he'd let his brother die alone in some gutter in Colombia.

  
Unless someone knew to tell him...

  
Nate looks sideways at Sully.

  
Part of him knows he's been looking for an excuse to tell Sullivan about Sam's existence and that's probably the real reason he's been so moody, but Nate hastily tells that part of himself to shut the hell up. Clearing his throat, he sits up in the bed.

  
"Hey...Sully?"

  
"Hm?" He blows some white smoke into the air, still gazing thoughtfully out the window.

  
Wow, he should have thought of what to say _before_ starting the conversation. Crap. Good job, Nate.

  
"Uh..."

  
Sullivan glances over at him.

  
Shifting uncomfortably in the bed, Nate offers a sheepish grin. "I, uh, may have not been totally honest with you before..."

  
His eyes narrow suspiciously but Sully just keeps smoking his cigar. "About?"

  
Nate grimaces, unsure of how to say it. A million different things buzz through his head but most of them are liable to get him--at best--yelled at by the old man. At worst? Ehh...kicked out on his ass quicker than he can say 'seven million dollar diamond'.

  
While he stews about how to phrase it, Sully sighs loudly. "This is gonna be a real doozy, ain't it? Can't wait to hear this one." He snuffs the cigar in the ashtray beside his bed and turns fully to face Nate. "Just go for it, kid."

  
With a feeble grin, Nate twists Sir Francis's ring around and around in his hands when he says, "Remember when you asked if I had any family...?"

  
Sully groans. "Goddammit, _come on_ , kid! I asked you--"

  
"You asked if I had any family _looking for me_! Which he's not. Technically I didn't lie."

  
Sullivan gives him an irritated look. "Who is he? Father?"

  
Nate can't help the scoff that escapes his throat. "Pff. No."

  
"Brother, then?"

  
He nods. "His name is Sam."

  
"Where is he?" Surprisingly, Sully doesn't seem mad. More annoyed than anything.

  
"Jail."

  
Now, Sullivan's expression hardens. "For what?"

  
"Theft."

  
And he relaxes again. "How old is he? How long will he be in for?"

  
"He's nineteen," Nate tells him. "He's getting out in about six months."

  
"Six months..." Sully suddenly looks like he's trying to figure out some great mystery, but then he turns to Nate and asks, "And what made you want to tell me this all of a sudden?"

Uhh...

  
Hm.

  
There's no way of saying this without him sound like a complete wuss, so instead, Nate just shrugs. "I just figured you should know."

  
"Oh, well, _thank you_ for your consideration."

  
Nate rolls his eyes at the sarcastic comment. "Look, you were wondering why I was distracted and I told you. No need to me a wise ass."

  
Sully chuckles. "That's the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"

  
Nate gives him his worst fake laugh. "Cute. But I'm still going with you on this job."

  
Sullivan sighs. "Fine. But watch your ass, no risky stuff, alright? 'Cause there's no way in hell I'm telling a bigger, older version of you that I let his baby brother get shot trying to steal some rock from a rich guy's basement."

  
Nate snickers and nods his head. "I'll be careful."

  
"Alright then," he stands up and grabs his own change of dark clothes. "I'll go get dressed and we'll head out. We've got a few stops to make before we hit the mansion."

  
"Sounds good."

  
Just before the bathroom door closes, Sullivan peeks his head out. "Oh, and kid?"

  
"Yeah?"

  
"Don't think that 'old man' comment got by me. Because it didn't."

  
Nate snorts. "Sorry."

  
"Uh huh." He shuts the door and Nate smirks.

  
Sure, maybe once Sam gets out of jail, he will have to say goodbye to Sully. But, really, what's the harm in having a little fun until then?

  
The seven million will be nice, too.

  
He just hopes Sully won't have to ever know why Nate told him about Sam in the first place...


	6. Chapter 6

The rent-a-car rumbles to a stop at the bottom of a steep, gated driveway with thick patches of shadowy woods on either side. Sully cuts the engine and turns to Nate with a serious expression on his aged face, the cigar in his mouth smoking feebly.  
"Alright, kid, from here on out, you stick to me like glue, understand? These guards ain't gonna be screwin' around."

  
Nate nods obediently, the feeling of the gun in his waistband is cold and heavy against his skin. Sully upgraded him to a real pistol on the way here, making a quick pit-stop to meet up with an old contact (another Navy buddy who's been in the arms dealing business for years). There's a silencer on this new gun and Sully acts like that makes it better somehow. But it doesn't make it any less deadly...

  
He tries to remind himself that he's shot someone before, so he can do it again.

  
He just really, _really_ hopes he won't have to...

  
They step out of the car and Sully tosses him a flashlight, which he clips to his belt but doesn't turn on. Sullivan does the same and together they jog toward the trees, keeping their heads low and their eyes and ears trained for the guards watching the perimeter.

* * *

 

There's a small, stone tool shed on the east side of the mansion. When Nate and Sully get close enough, they dart from the protection of the woods to the shed, pressing up against it for cover. They can hear the footfalls of the guards on their patrols, just feet away from them. Obediently, Nate keeps right to Sullivan's side, waiting for his mentor's approval before they jog silently out from behind the shed up to the agreed entry point: a window two stories over their heads. At this point, it's a race against the clock before the next guard rounds the corner.

  
Wordlessly, Sully motions for the kid to go first. There's a pipe running up the corner of the mansion and from there, it's just a single, good jump to get to the open window. Nate nods his head and shimmies up while Sully keeps watch. The pipe creaks a few times but thankfully it holds and the kid whistles softly when he's safely inside.

  
Sullivan climbs up next, admittedly much slower than his young protege, who's standing in the darkened guest room with his back to the window when he finally scrambles inside. "Phew, gettin' too old for this..." he whispers, rotating his shoulder.

  
Nate raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Hang in there, grandpa." Padding silently over to the door, the kid presses his ear to the wood and pauses, listening. A moment later, he pulls back and shakes his head. "Quiet."

  
Sully nods and steps forward, turning the handle and gently pulling the door open. He pokes his head out, looking right, then left, and down the steps. The hallway outside is dark and empty. Looks like the papers were right, the guards don't patrol this area. Sully motions for Nate to follow him and steps out into the hall. "Alright, the basement door is right below us," he whispers. "Come on. Stay close."

  
"Like glue," Nate replies softly.

  
With that, Sully heads for the steps. There are few dim, golden lights dotting the walls alongside the grand, ornately carpeted staircase, but for the most part, it's dark inside the building. In the near distance, he can hear the crackling, muffled voices of walkie talkie chatter. Must be the guard stationed at the basement door. A quick peek over the mahogany handrail confirms that thought. There's a large man in a suit standing in front of the basement door with his hands folded behind his back and his chin lifted up confidently. Damn. He's gotta be three hundred pounds of muscle. No wonder Mr. Miller doesn't have that many guards around, the ones he does have are bigger than Mr. goddamn Universe.

  
Still, if they want their seven million, they gotta take him out. And quietly.

  
Sully is just about to think of a diversion when the guard suddenly turns..and looks right at them.

  
Shit.

  
However, he doesn't sound the alarm or radio his pals. He just looks at them, nods his head, and casually walks toward the steps. Sullivan stiffens and moves to the side, stepping in front of Nate, who swallows audibly.

  
The guard climbs the steps and brushes past them. Sully jumps when the beefy man presses something into his hand.

  
Looking down (while Nate stares wide eyed at the guard retreating to the second floor) he unfolds the piece of paper the man gave him.

  
_Don't forget our agreement_

  
_\-- D.W._

  
Diane Wheeler. Crafty old crone, sending one of her guards to infiltrate the place. She's ballsy, he'll give her that.

  
Sully motions for Nate to follow him and they descend the rest of the steps quickly, rounding the corner and twisting the handle to the basement door. It's unlocked. Likely courtesy of their giant friend. Throwing themselves inside, they close the door behind them.

  
"Smart lady," Nate whispers. "I almost feel bad about dicking her over."

  
Sully snorts. "Almost."

  
"But if she could just send one of her guys to get into this place like that, why hire us?" the kid asks as they pad the down steps into the underground treasury.

  
"That's easy," Sully tells him. "If _he_ was caught, he could be tied back to her since he's in her employ. If _we're_ caught, we're the ones facing jail time, not her."

  
"Huh. Classy."

  
"Eh, all the big time collectors do it, kid. It's just part of the job."

  
With that, reach the bottom step.

  
"Well I'll be go to hell..."

  
"Wow..."

  
The room is massive. Bigger than both floors of the museum in Cartagena combined. There are hundreds of displays. Golden plaques, glass cases full of sparkling gems and artifacts, suits of ancient armor, antiques by the thousands... Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling and the floor is solid, white marble. There's an enormous map of the world covering the entire right wall with circles around every ancient city in the world with photos attached by pieces of red string. It looks like a detective's board in the midst of trying to solve a mystery.

  
Nate takes a step forward, drawn in by the lines of thread crisscrossing the planet, photos of ancient ruins glowing in the light of the chandeliers. Sully grabs his wrist to stop him.

  
"Hey, focus, kid. We're not here to sight-see."

  
Shaking himself back to reality, Nate nods. "Yeah. Sorry."

  
"C'mon, let's find this diamond and get the hell outta here."

  
"Yeah."

  
It doesn't take long. The Florentine Diamond is displayed with pride in the center of the treasury, sitting on a velvet pillow in a glass case with gold trim. It has its own light source, three little spotlights glowing perfectly in the right spots to make the unique cut and color of the diamond shine brilliantly.

  
Nate smiles but resists his urge to touch the glass. He wouldn't be at all surprised if it were alarmed. "Holy shit..." he laughs. "The Florentine Diamond..." He looks up at Sully with excited bright, blue eyes. "This thing's been lost for centuries. And here it is in some guy's basement...I wonder if he even knows what it is..."

  
"Oh he knows."

  
Sully stiffens. Turning slowly, he swears under his breath at the sight of guards quietly spilling into the room. There are dozens of them, all of them with guns.

  
It doesn't help that he can practically feel Nate's terror, even though his face doesn't betray.

  
And right there, amid the beefy men with guns, is a thin, elderly man. His salt and pepper hair, shiny black loafers, and stuffed shirt betray him for who he is. Sully forces a smile.

  
"Ah, Mr. Miller."

  
The old man doesn't smile back. "That's right. And who might you be?"

  
"Name's Dave Farzan," Sully says without missing a beat. "This is my nephew, Zach."

  
Gregory Miller's eyes narrow. He isn't sure whether or not to believe him. "Well, Mr. Farzan, would you like to explain what you and your nephew are doing in my treasury at two in the morning? I'd like to know your reasoning before I call the _authorities_."

  
Sully laughs. "Oh that won't be necessary. See this is all just a big misunderstanding..."

  
Nate tries not to turn and look at the hand creeping toward Sully's waistband. Toward his gun. He just hopes Sullivan has a plan to go along with it...

  
"Oh, really."

  
"Yeah, sure. See the thing is--" Sully whips the gun out and fire a single shot at the chandelier above the staircase.

  
For a split second, the lights flash and go dark.

  
The room turns red and an alarm blares.

  
Sully grabs Nate by the back of his shirt and hauls him behind a large, metal display, practically throwing him to the ground. "Keep your damn head down!"

  
And suddenly there are shots being fired. Not just from Sully, either.

  
A torrent of bullets crash into the display and the walls. Glass shatters and something extremely heavy falls over, shaking the floor beneath them. Nate can hear rapid footsteps getting closer.

  
They're being flanked.

  
Yanking his gun out of his waistband, he struggles to steady the trembling of his hands.

  
Nate pokes his head around the corner of the display, trying to aim. He's just about to the squeeze the trigger when he sees it.

  
"Sully! Get down!" Suddenly jumping to his feet, Nate aims for his target. It's so huge, he can't possibly miss.

  
Surely enough, his bullet rattles the swaying chandelier. Pieces of glass rain down and the lights flicker and go dark. And suddenly, just as he'd hoped it would, the enormous light breaks from from the ceiling. Its only unsevered chain snapping like a twig and sending the monstrous light crashing down onto the staircase.

  
Suddenly the entire treasury goes dark, save for the flashing red light of the alarm.

  
Sparks rain down from the ceiling where the chandelier once was.

  
The guns have stopped firing. There are guards laying on the floor, groaning, rubbing their heads and other parts of themselves that hit the floor too hard when they dove out of the way. Gregory Miller lays on his back, holding his side and wheezing.

  
Sully looks stunned but unharmed, so Nate sprints out of cover over to where the Florentine Diamond is still sitting in its perch. The glass around it is shattered so he just reaches in and grabs the yellow stone, shoving it into his satchel.

  
He runs back to Sully and yells that they need to go.

  
His mentor, finally over the shock, nods his head and leads the way to the staircase, dodging the guards laying on the floor. One of them shambles to his feet to try to stop them but Sullivan socks him in the jaw and he falls flat on his back.

  
Crunching over broken glass and bits of dry wall, Sully and Nate run up the steps and back into the mansion itself.

  
There's another team of guards running at them from the front doors.

  
"Shit! Go, go!"

  
Sullivan pushes Nate ahead of him, shooting over his shoulder to keep the guards away as they throw themselves up the steps to the second floor. The kid dives into the bathroom with the open window and locks the door behind them.

  
Not two seconds later, someone starts trying to kick it in.

  
"Stay back," Sully tells him, yanking him away from the door just in case it flies open. Running to the window, he peers down and swears. There are guards skulking all over the place now.

  
"How the hell did they find us?!" Nate demands, clutching his satchel with the diamond in it.

  
"I don't know, just gimme your gun."

  
Nate gives him a quizzical stare but obeys, handing it over.

  
Sully drops its clip and counts the remaining rounds: eleven. A decent amount but definitely not enough to shoot their way outta here.

  
He knew he should have parked somewhere else. Assholes probably already found the car by the now.

  
_WHAM!_

  
Nate and Sully jump at the sound of another kick to the bathroom door. One of the hinges squeal and something cracks.

  
It's gonna go any second.

  
"Sully?!" Nate demands, his expression stone-hard, his voice trembling. "I'm fresh outta plans here, this one's all you!"

 

"Yeah, yeah I'm _workin'_ on it!"

  
But it's too late. The door explodes inward and a handful of guards come rushing in. They don't pull their guns, just rush at Nate and Sully, grabbing them and trying to wrestle them to the floor.

  
Sully fights with all he's got, throwing elbows and knees and even biting one guy's hand. He knees one hard in the nuts and that guy goes down. Another one rushes up to replace him, while the guy behind Sully grabs him and throws an arm around his throat. Sully kicks the one in front of him and throws himself backwards, smashing the man behind him into the sink so he crumples to the floor.

  
Suddenly free, Sullivan whips around to find Nate.

  
The kid has two guys on him. He's kicking and struggling but he's no match for two fully grown men. One has him under the arms, the other by his ankles, pinning him down.

  
Sully fires two shots and the men collapse.

  
A fleck of blood splatters against Nate's cheek and he freezes, but Sully grabs him and pulls him to his feet.

  
"You alright? You hurt?"

  
He's holding his side where he was shot but shakes his head.

  
He doesn't speak. The drop of blood rolls down his cheek.

  
"Alright, let's go!" Sully steers him to the window, vaguely wondering how much of the seven million it's gonna take to send this poor kid to therapy for the rest of his life, when he hears one last set of footsteps rushing toward them.

  
Nate turns at the sound, having just enough time to yelp as a pair of iron-hard arms tackle him around the waist.

  
And they crash through the window, sailing down to meet the hard ground.

 

Sully shouts his name as they fall.

  
And then everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Sully's fake name in this chapter is a reference to the Uncharted book written by Christopher Golden (Uncharted: The Fourth Labyrinth) which is his alias in said book XD I'm reading it right now and it's fairly decent - if you're looking for an Uncharted novel, I recommend it. (Though Nate seems kind of out of character to me).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, guys! Thanks for all your support, I had a lot of fun with this one!

Nate wakes to the sound of beeping. The world is a hazy, white blur when he forces his eyelids open and he's distantly aware of people talking. Some of the voices sound familiar but he can't seem to place them.

  
Actually, he can't seem to remember much of...anything. For a split second, he thinks he's back in the orphanage and the voices are the nuns saying their prayers. But then he realizes how utterly ridiculous that is. He's been out of the orphanage for years. Plus, the voices are men's.

  
Listening more intently, he still can't make out their words but he muses that one of them sounds a little like Sam and for a brief moment, he considers that he might be in jail. Could be. He's not exactly a perfect citizen...

  
And then he realizes that the voice sounds _a lot_ like Sam.

  
The other voices drift away as Nate tries to turn his head. Squinting and blinking through the blurry haze in his vision, he sees him. It _is_ Sam. Sitting there in a plastic chair with his feet propped up on top of the air conditioning unit, his chin resting in his hand, staring out the window...

  
Nate opens his mouth to get his brother's attention but his throat feels weak and his mouth is cotton dry. Sam's name comes out more like a strangled wheeze than anything else. Still, his older brother whips his head around at the sound coming from his mouth. At first, he just stares with wide, hazel eyes.

  
"Nathan...?"

  
Nate tries for a smile. He doesn't think it works out.

  
"Oh...oh man..." Suddenly Sam looks pale and dizzy, like he's going to pass out. "U-um they said you weren't gonna wake up for another few days...I just...I just didn't think--ah, whatever." Sam yanks his chair closer and (gently) grabs Nate's right hand, squeezing it as he gives his baby brother a big, relieved (and yet still terrified) smile. "How ya' feelin', little brother?"

  
Nate coughs to clear his throat but instantly regrets it. Sam literally jumps at the sound. What the hell's got him so anxious? "I'm...alright..." he manages to croak out. His throat stings. He could really go for some water.

  
As if reading his brother's mind, Sam gets up and goes to the metal sink in the room. He grabs a paper cup from underneath and fills it from the tap. Handing it over, he sits back down and frowns at the quake in Nathan's hand.

  
Nate gets it almost to his lips before it's cruelly snatched away. He blinks in surprise and then turns to glare at Sam, who took it.

  
"Let me," his brother says, oddly soft, holding it up to his mouth.

  
Nate gives him a hard look. Despite how badly his arms (and...the rest of him) ache, there's no way in hell he's letting his brother hold the cup for him. He's not a baby. Snatching it back, he waves Sam away and takes a long, deep drink, just for show.

  
It was bad idea though. All that water rushes straight to his empty stomach and makes him nauseous.

  
Sam takes the cup back and sets it down on the bedside table. "Better?"

"Yeah," he lies. "Sam, what...what're you doing here? How'd you get outta jail?"

  
For some reason, a rather sour expression passes over his brother's face. "Oh, uh, your _friend_...Victor Sullivan? He paid my bail and flew me out here." Then, leaning in close, he whispers, "He told me everything, Nathan. What the hell were you thinking? Trying to steal Francis Drake's ring by yourself? Joining up with a guy like _him_?" He shakes his head and sits back in his chair, looking utterly baffled. And more than a little disappointed.

  
That's what hurts, that look.

  
Nate grimaces and looks away. "What did you expect me to do? Sit around on my ass for a year while you were in jail?"

  
Sam laughs humorlessly, bitterly. "Yeah, actually. We're a _team_ , Nathan. You coulda' got yourself killed..."

 

Nate frowns but still doesn't look back. "I can take care of myself--"

  
" _Bull_ shit!"

  
Nate jumps at the sudden shout. He stares at Sam with wide, shocked eyes. His brother is fuming. He's never seen him so angry.

  
"That's _bullshit_ , Nate, and you know it. You're _fourteen_! You have _no idea_ how to take care of yourself! No idea how to do what we do _by yourself_! You shoulda' just laid low until I got back! _Like I told you to!_ But no! You've gotta rob a frickin' museum and almost get shot and then go run off to the _other side of the goddamn world_ with a guy you barely know!"

  
"Sully's a good guy, Sam--"

  
"You don't _know_ him, Nathan!"

  
"I _do_ know him!" Yelling hurts like hell but he'll be damned if he's just gonna let Sam stand there and shout at him without fighting back. "He's saved my life twice--three times actually, now! I trust him! He paid your bail for chrissakes! Why would he do that if he didn't care?!"

  
Sam's expression only turns darker. He lowers his voice until it's good and intimidating and then leans in and hisses, "He flew me in, Nathan, because he thought you were gonna die and he wanted me to be able to _say goodbye_."

  
Nate's stomach churns. Not because he was that close to death, but because there are tears in Sam's eyes.

  
Sam never cries.

  
"That asshole almost got you killed, Nathan. He got me out because he felt guilty, not out of the _goodness of his hear_ t." Suddenly, Sam turns away to look out the window again. His voice is shaking and he stuffs his hands into his pockets. "You fell out a second story window... You were in a coma for a three days. We thought you were gonna _die_ , little brother... We all did. Even the doctors..."

  
Shit.

  
Shit, he _is_ crying.

  
"Sam..." Nate tries to sit up, to reach out to him but his body aches all over. And before he gets a chance to really try, the hospital room door opens. A girl nurse wearing bright pink scrubs steps in. She takes one look at Nate before rushing back out, probably to get the doctor.

  
By the time Nate turns back to his brother, Sam is wiping his eyes. He sits back down in the chair and gives his little brother a feeble smile.

  
"I shouldn't have yelled," he says. "Sorry."

  
Nate stares, he can't help it. Sam it usually such a relaxed guy. It's unlike him to be this emotional. "It's okay..." Licking his lips, he decides to just go ahead and ask the question he's been burning to ask. Might as well, Sam's already pissed at him. "Where, uh, where is Sully?"

  
There's that look again. Like he ate something bitter or smelled a bad odor. "Down in the cafeteria getting coffee...he should be back soon."

  
Nate nods his head and that's when the door opens and the doctor steps in. She looks back and forth between him and Sam and then just sighs.

  
"Samuel, you should have called me as soon as he woke up."

  
"Sorry, doc... I just got...wrapped up, you know?"

  
Her expression softens. "I guess I understand that. Still," turning to Nathan, she offers a gentle smile. "Nathan, it's good to see you awake. I'm Doctor Reed."

  
"Nice to meet you."

  
She looks around the room for a second but obviously doesn't find what she's look for. "Where's your uncle?"

  
Nate pauses. Uncle?

  
"He's down in the cafeteria," Sam tells her. "Getting coffee."

  
Wait...Sully is supposed to be their uncle?

  
"Ah," she nods. "Well, he certainly has a surprise waiting for him when gets back, huh?" She smiles brightly and walks to the bottom of the bed, taking a clip board from the footboard. "Nathan, you mind if I ask you some questions, just to make sure you're all in there?" She taps her head with a smirk and he can't help but chuckle.

  
"Yeah, sure."

  
"Alright. First of all, how are you feeling?"

  
"Fine," he says. She immediately raises her eyebrows. "Sore."

  
Doctor Reed nods and jots something down on the clipboard. "Where are you sore?"

  
"Uh..." Nate tries to ignore the way Sam is staring at him. "My head, mostly. My arms...my back...legs...everything basically."

 

"Well, that's perfectly normal. You took quite a spill. At least nothing's broken, huh?"

  
"Ha, yeah."

  
"Okay, how's your vision?"

  
"Uh, it was blurry when I woke up but it's better now."

  
"Normal?"

  
"Yeah."

  
The doctor fires off at least twenty more questions before she's satisfied. Everything from if he's feeling tired to his appetite to if he's nauseous... Finally, though, the door opens, interrupting her.

  
It's Sully, carrying two cups of coffee and a box of doughnuts.

  
He looks like shit. Dark circles under his eyes, his hair unbrushed and maybe even unwashed, his clothes wrinkled to hell. But as soon as he sees Nate, it's like years fall off his face.

  
For how much Sam seems to dislike the man, he sure jumps to his feet awfully fast to go over there and take the coffee and doughnuts from him so he can come closer without dropping everything. Which he does.

  
Sully practically shoves Doctor Reed out of the way as he sits down on the edge of Nate's bed. His smile is strained, worry still etched into his brow, but he squeezes Nate's shoulder and tells him it's good to see him awake and that he scared the living hell out of him.

  
Doctor Reed coughs and excuses herself, closing the door behind her.

  
As soon as she's gone, Nate gives Sully a look. "So...uncle?"

  
His mentor smirks thinly. "Yeah, had to have a cover story."

  
"Mind filling _me_ in? You know, just in case someone asks."

  
"Not necessary," This time, it's Sam. He's got a cup of coffee in one hand a half eaten doughnut in the other and he's leaning nonchalantly against the wall, looking much cheerier than before, much more like himself. "We're breaking you outta here, brother."

  
Nate snorts. "Breaking me out? This is a hospital, Sam, not prison."

  
"Sure, but he's got a point, kid," Sully says. "After all, the hospital board is gonna be pretty curious about the fourteen year old that comes in here with a three day old gun shot wound and battered all to hell from 'falling out a window'."

  
"I guess it does sound kinda...suspicious. So...when do we leave?"

  
"As soon as you're up to it," Sam replies.

  
But Sully holds up a hand. "Woah, slow down, Sam. Don't you think we should wait for his test results to get back? Just in case?"

  
Sam makes that face again. "What for? He's obviously fine."

  
"It's not always easy to tell with head injuries," Sully points out. "The rest of him's fine, sure, but the doc said she still isn't sure what's going on up top."

  
"Victor, he's _awake_. The doctor said if he woke up, he'd be fine."

  
Now, Sully looks irritated as well. "I know what the doctor said. All I'm sayin' is--"

  
But then, thankfully, the door opens again so they stop bickering. It's Doctor Reed again. She's holding a folder in one hand with Nate's name on it. Or...his first name, anyway. Nathan Sullivan is what's listed on the front. Oh yeah, Sully's supposed to be his uncle.

  
On his dad's side, apparently.

  
"Sorry to interrupt, Nathan's test results just got back."

  
"Please, come in," Sully says, flashing Sam a hard look. Nate's brother just sits down in his chair and crosses his arms.

* * *

 

Turns out Nate's completely fine. Other than a few bumps and bruises and a minor concussion, he's in perfect health. According to Doctor Reed, the likeliest reason he was in a coma for so long was just shock and nothing more.

  
Still, she tells them she'd like it if he stayed in the hospital for a while longer, just to be sure. But as soon as she leaves the room, Sam is hustling Nate to get dressed so they can go. And this time, Sully doesn't argue.

  
They slip out of the room without incident, finding Sully's new rented pickup truck in the parking lot and just a few minutes later, they're driving down the highway with no particular destination in mind. Sam flips through the radio stations with one hand, his other arm slung over Nate's shoulders, occasionally glancing down at his little brother, as if trying to make sure he's still there.

  
Sully is just reaching into his pocket to grab a cigar when his satellite phone starts to ring. All three of them look down at it sitting in the center console.

  
"You didn't give the hospital your number, right?" Sam asks.

  
"Course not." Sully reaches down to pick it up. "Hello?"

  
Nate feels slightly queasy when his mentor's face goes hard.

  
"Ah, Mrs. Wheeler..."

  
_Oh crap._ He forgot about Wheeler.

  
"Yeah, that's right. I--" He makes face and Nate can tell he got interrupted. "Look, there's nothing--yeah. Yeah, right. Uh-huh. Sure, thanks for understan-- She hung up." Sully glares at the phone for a moment before tossing it down.

  
"What happened?!" Nate asks.

  
" _That_ was Wheeler..." Sully tells him. "Looks like the guard she posed as one of Miller's just got back to her place. He told her everything that happened."

  
Nate sighs and sits back in his seat. "Shit."

  
"Yeah. We're fired."

  
"I bet." But that's when something occurs to Nate. Turning back to Sully, he says, "Hey...wait a sec. The diamond was in my satchel when I fell...what happened to it?"

  
Sully doesn't answer right away. He looks uncomfortable, almost...embarrassed. "Well, uh...I um... The thing is, kid, you were in bad shape. And there were guards all over the damn place. I needed something to negotiate with..."

  
Nate blinks in surprise. "You...gave it back to them?"

  
Sullivan nods. "They still weren't gonna let us go but it distracted them for a while. Long enough for me to get you outta there."

  
Sully gave up seven million dollars. To save him. Nate is just opening his mouth to thank him when he feels Sam's grip on his shoulder squeeze a little tighter. Looking sideways at his brother, he finds Sam biting his lower lip. The tears are back in his eyes again, but when he speaks, his voice is completely stable.

  
"Thanks, Sullivan," he says. "I've been kind of a dick about all this but...you did save my little brother. So thanks."

  
Nate peeks over at Sully, who's finally got a cigar between his teeth. He smirks and takes a long, deep drag.

  
"Don't mention it, Sam."

* * *

 

The sun is setting again by the time they grease enough palms to get Sam's motorcycle back, get a change of clothes for Nate so he's not dressed in a flimsy paper gown, and ditch yet another of Sully's rented cars along the side of the road. Now the three of them stand on the tarmac of the airport where Sully's plane is waiting. Sam leaning against his bike smoking a cigarette, Sully unlocking the door to the cockpit...and Nate in between them.

  
The sky is a hot orange streaked with black clouds, the sun simmering on the horizon. The stars are blotted out by the glow of the nearby city and even from this distance, Nate can see headlights wizzing down the interstate and hear the occasional honk of a horn. Not very far behind him, the darkening Atlantic ocean sprays salty water into the air and sea gulls chatter as they glide through the cool, summer night.

  
Just on the other side of that water is Sully's next job. Some rich Spanish client wants a priceless item lifted from the ruins of an abandoned city.

  
Sully asked if Sam wanted to help out and get a cut of the pay but Nate's brother politely declined. Evidently, he has some work of his own lined up.

  
Nothing compared to a lost Spanish city though... That much, Nate's willing to bet.

  
Just then, he hears Sam's bike roar to life. Nate turns and sees his brother climbing onto the motorcycle, rubbing out the last of his cigarette. He looks up at Nate questioningly and then nods his head for him to come over. Which he does after stealing a quick glance at Sully, who pretends not to notice.

  
Sam looks about as uncomfortable as Nate feels. He talks in a voice just above a whisper, just loud enough for his brother to hear over the engine. "Look, Nathan... I know you've had fun with Sullivan. I understand, really I do. But we're brothers, we're a team. We gotta stick together, remember?"

  
Nate is nodding his head but he doesn't feel like he should. "Sam," he says, struggling for the right words. "Remember...remember what you said to me the night we ran away? Destined for greater things, right? Well..." He lifts Sir Francis's ring from around his neck and holds it out for Sam to see. " _This_ , this is the life we're meant for. Finishing Mom's work. And we can't do that here."

  
Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "So, what? You want to go with Sullivan? Stealing from rich assholes and getting into gunfights?"

  
Nate tries to ignore the look of genuine hurt of Sam's face. "That's not what it's about, Sam. Sully's a pro, okay? He can help us find Drake's remains, he can help us prove our theories. And Mom's. Look," he twists the ring around, pointing to the inscription inside. "See those numbers? They mean something. I don't know what just yet but you and I both know Francis Drake didn't do anything without a purpose."

  
"Yeah, and we can figure it out on our own," Sam argues. "We don't _need_ him."

  
Nate drops the ring back around his neck. "I didn't think so either at first... Seemed like we were taking care of ourselves perfectly fine. But, Sam...in one week of knowing this guy, I learned more than I have in years of trying to figure it out on my own. We found the _Florentine Diamond_ for chrissakes."

  
Sam chews his lower lip, expression unreadable even to his baby brother.

  
" _Please_ , Sam. I _know_ this is the right thing for us to do."

  
Sam opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again as Sully strides over.

  
"So, what's the verdict?" the older man asks. "You two comin' with me to Spain?"

  
Taking a leap of faith, Nate smiles at him. "Yeah, I'm coming." Then he turns and stares at Sam as if to say, _I'm going. With or without you_. But he really hopes it's "with".

  
But Sam's shoulders droop a little and he smiles apologetically at Sully. "Nah, I've got my own stuff to take care of here." At the pained expression on Nate's face, Sam just tries to grin. "Take of this little numskull, huh?"

  
Sully grunts, shaking his head. Apparently he can't believe it anymore than Nate can.

  
"Sam..." Nate whispers, pleadingly. "I just got you back..."

  
Still, he shakes his head. Reaching out to rustle Nate's hair, Sam sits down on his bike. "Don't be such a baby, Nathan. I'll meet you in Spain in a couple weeks, alright?" With that, he peels out of the hangar, his bike fading into the distance and becoming just another headlight on the freeway.

  
Nate stares after him for a while, his throat feeling strangely constricted. He blinks the mist from his eyes and stomps over to the plane before Sully can see the sorrow on his face. "Asshole," he mutters, climbing into the cockpit. Sully follows silently behind him.

  
As the plane makes its rounds, preparing to lift off, Nate toys sullenly with Francis Drake's ring, turning it over and over in his hands to read the various inscriptions. It's just a cover though, in his head, he can't stop thinking about his treacherous brother. What an absolute jerkweed!

  
The stunt plane points its nose to the black sky and as they lift off the ground, Nate turns to look at the map hanging from the back of Sully's seat. It's divided into a grid, marked with latitude and longitude, numbers running up and down both sides. Lazily, he seeks out Spain and New York, grimacing at how very far away they are from each other.

  
But then something sparks in his brain.

  
Heart thrumming, Nate scans the numbers inside Drake's ring. "Oh my god..."

  
"What?" Sully glances at him out of the corner of his eye, both hands busy with steering the plane.

  
"They're coordinates..."

  
"What? Kid, I can't hear you if you mumble."

  
Nate rips off his seat belt and jumps to his feet, Sully shouting at him to sit his ass back down until the plane is leveled off. But of course he doesn't listen. Scrambling over to the map, Nate clings to the interior of the plane as he runs up and down the numbers on the map.

  
"Kid!" Sully barks. "What the hell are you doing?!"

  
There!

  
Right there. Off the coast of Panama.

  
"Kid?!"

  
Nate staggers back into his seat, grabbing Sully's phone. He jabs out the number by heart and is practically vibrating with excitement as it rings.

  
"Kid?"

  
Nate holds out a finger, telling him to wait.

  
_"Hello?"_

  
"Sam? It's Nate!"

  
_"Nathan? What's wrong?"_

  
"You are not gonna believe what I just figured out..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! Last chapter! (Is it considered a cliffhanger if you know exactly how it's gonna go?) XD So kind of a weird lead-in to Uncharted: Drake's Fortune but I always wondered how Nate figured out they were coordinates.  
> Obviously, their search for Drake's remains would get interrupted by Sam's "death" and Nate and Sully would continue it years later on their own - thus the first game.  
> I hope you enjoyed! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you guys think I should continue this.


End file.
